


Lover, Not A Fighter

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 22:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: He doesn’t know what he was more surprised, and anguished, by: Jon being tortured and used against him by Manchester Black, or Damian jumping in front of him, fully prepared to die to save him and his son.





	Lover, Not A Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> A direct post-Superman 24 garbage heap. I’m bad at fight scenes/battle conclusions okay. With the title I’m sure some of you will think it’s a ship fic, and it’s not. It is 5000% platonic on all parties. Post-fight bit is inspired by first bit of ‘Trafalgar Celebration’ from the Wonder Woman soundtrack. Stop Making Jon Kent Cry 2k17.

Jon had been tortured. Jon had been _hurt_. Jon’s mind had been hacked and taken over.

And right now, fists ready, Jon was coming right at him.

But Clark wouldn’t fight him. No. _Never_. He’d never hit his son, even for his own protection.

So, he quickly raised his arms, prepared to just block the hit, block for as long as he needed to, until he could create a plan. Until he could think of something, just one thing. _Anything_ to save his son.

But suddenly, another son was in front of him. Batman’s son. Robin.

Damian.

“Wha-”

But he couldn’t even get a word out before Jon hit Damian full force. Fist to face, throwing him to the ground.

Jon practically growled, turning his attention back to Clark. But again, Damian was on his feet, rushing between them, acting as a barricade between Superman and his son.

“Fight it, Superboy.” Damian demanded. His voice sounded pained, and already there was blood trickling from his nose.

“Robin, what are you doing.” Clark pleaded, grabbing Damian’s shoulder. He could hear Batman’s heart pounding in terror as the other ran forward. “What the _hell are you doing?!”_

Damian just shook him off.

Jon lunged again, looking to aim around Damian, but Damian just sidestepped into his fist, taking it square in the gut, latching onto Jon’s wrist before he pull back.

“I said _fight it_ , you idiot!” Damian screamed, even as Jon squirmed. Clark glanced back at Manchester just once, saw him frowning. “Take back your control!”

The others of Manchester’s Elite, who had paused in their attack when Damian interfered, regained their will to fight. Only this time, instead of coming at Superman and his team, they all swarmed towards Damian, ready to rip him limb from limb to get him out of the way.

But immediately, there were batarangs in the air, punches being thrown. Batman covering his partner.

Lord, if anyone who called Bruce a bad parent could see him now.

“…What is he doing?!” Clark shouted as he too joined the fray. “Batman, what is Robin _doing_?”

“I…I don’t know.” Bruce admitted softly. Punched a man down and looked over towards their boys. “But whatever it is, Superman, I think…we need to let him do it.”

“No.” Clark ordered. “No, Batman, this is _my_ fight. That’s _my son_. I will _not_ risk Robin’s life for-”

And softly, so quietly even Clark barely heard it, was a voice.

“I can’t.” Jon sobbed, still fighting Damian. His free hand was on the other’s throat now. Squeezing. “I can’t, Robin.”

“You _can_.” Damian hissed, ignoring the threat posed to him. “You can and you _will_. You’re strong enough. I know you are, your parents know you are. _Batman_ knows you are. Fight against this bastard, and tell him where he can stick it.”

Manchester stepped forward. “That’s Manchester Black to you, laddie.” Then to Jon, who twitched and hiccupped. “Jon-Boy, how about we show the bird brain here what your powers can _really_ do.”

Jon’s eyes began to glow. Still black, a deep, terrible black, but glow nonetheless. And Clark knew that glow anywhere.

Heat vision.

And from so close, Damian wouldn’t stand a chance.

“N-No…”

The hand on his throat released, and Jon stumbled back. Damian had a chance to run, a chance to at least cover himself, or move away, but he didn’t.

“You can do it, Jon.” Damian repeated, moving closer still. “If I didn’t think you could, I wouldn’t be wasting my time trying to help your sorry a-”

Black lasers exploded from Jon’s eyes, right towards Damian’s face.

And Clark barely made it. Barely grabbed Damian’s elbow and jerked him back. Barely twisted him away in time so the heat vision could hit his back instead.

“Damian, _what are you doing_.” Clark whispered to the boy in his arms. “You’re going to get yourself _killed_ -”

“Trying to stop Jon from making a terrible mistake.” Damian returned defiantly, squirming, trying to get out of the safety of Clark’s arms. “I’ve been here, I _know_ what it’s like. And I will not let Jonathan suffer the same as I have.”

Clark just stared at him in question. Damian paused in his fighting, lowered his gaze.

“I…know what it’s like. To harm your father.” Damian whispered. And from Bruce’s stiffening nearby, he knew he could hear Damian too, through their comms most likely. “Because someone else forces you to. Or the situation is out of your control. It is…something terrible. Something you can never forgive yourself for. Something I’ve never forgiven _myself_ for.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, looked up. “And I will not let Jonathan go through that. Because if he does, he’ll hate himself. He’ll hate himself the rest of his life, no matter what you say or do for him. It’ll change him as a person, forever, and he’s…”

Damian inhaled a sharp breath.

“He’s too good of a person for that to happen to.” Quickly, while Clark was distracted by his words, he pulled back and stood. “So, if _Superboy Elite_ has to kill someone today, it should be a lesser man than his father.”

“Damian, no.” Clark begged, even as Damian jumped around him, running back towards Jon. Jon who still had tears streaming down his face. Jon, who was trying so hard to fight Black, but was failing. Jon, who was suffering because Black held a grudge against _him_. “ _Robin, no!_ ”

But Damian ignored him. Tackled Jon to the ground. Took the blows to his gut and his face. The nails digging into his throat. Being slammed into the ground.

“I know you can do this, Jon!” He just kept shouting. “I know you can _fight_ him!”

“He’s distracting him. Leave the Elite to the others.” Bruce was suddenly at his side. “Now’s our only chance to get at Black. It’s the only way to…” Bruce trailed off, voice pained. “…To save either of them.”

“This was funny at first, but now you’re just annoying, Birdie.” Manchester hummed, though frustration was clear in his voice as he snapped his fingers. Jon let out a shout. His hands were shaking as one hand grabbed Damian’s neck, the other pulling at his hair. His eyes lighting up once more. “Jon-Boy, let’s take care of our young friend here…”

_No._

One instant he was standing with Bruce, the next he was slamming Manchester into the computer backs, his own heat vision charged and ready to go.

 _“Let him go!”_ He roared. “ _Let my son go,_ now!”

“The only way to make me do that is to kill me.” Manchester wheezed with a grin, still holding his cigarette. “And you’re too much of a loser to do that, eh, Superman?”

Clark grit his teeth, squeezed the hold he had on Black’s shoulders.

“…Knew it.” Manchester hummed, taking a drag on his cigarette. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. Couldn’t stop it if I wanted to, and trust me – I _don’t_.” Blew the smoke into Clark’s face. “I already gave the order. Now it has to be carried out, no matter what. That’s just how this all works.”

It didn’t. It was a total and complete lie. Manchester could give an order and Jon would stop. Jon would be released.

He just wanted to kill someone. He wanted to kill Clark, but for now, Damian was a good stand in.

Manchester laughed, then screamed: “Light him up, Jon-Boy!”

Suddenly, loud steps of boots, and a desperate voice from Batman. _“No!”_

Jon groaned. Jon screamed, doing his best to fight, just like Damian had told him.

Manchester cackled. Clark slammed him against the machine. “Let him go, now!” He shouted. Then, at his wits’ end: “… _Please_!”

But suddenly there was a crash above them, and the top part of the computer bank was melting.

Clark paused, for just a second, then looked back.

Jon was looking at them, not Damian. Was still sitting on top of the other, but the other was also still _alive_ , blinking up at Jon in surprise. His breath was heaving, there were tears mixing with sweat on his face.

And the black ooze was melting off of him.

“Jon-Boy, how did you…” Manchester gasped. And Clark couldn’t help but smile – because the ooze was still trying to take over. Climb back up Jon’s body, retake control – but Jon wasn’t letting it.

Jon was fighting it, just like Damian said he could.

Jon was _winning_.

“I won’t hurt anyone.” Jon said. His voice was strong, but tight. “I won’t hurt anyone, not for you!”

Manchester grit his teeth. “Elite!” He called. “Take care of these-”

One of his minions were thrown to the floor nearby. Frankenstein and his bride standing behind them.

“Sorry.” Frankenstein grumbled as his wife smiled. “ _Who_?”

“You…You _couldn’t_ …” Manchester breathed. But suddenly he frowned, and all black ooze came slithering towards him. “I won’t let you win again, Super-”

He was cut off by Clark’s fist to his face, knocking him out cold.

“…That won’t keep him out for long.” Clark sighed, dropping him to the floor. Watching as the ooze still surrounded him in a cocoon. “I’ll keep watch over him until we can get some League help. Or maybe the Guardians. Batman, I trust you’ll get everyone out who needs to be?”

It was a rhetorical question. Bruce was already at his son’s side, uttering reassurances to Jon as he gathered Damian up into his arms. As he stood, he shifted Damian to one arm, and wrapped his free hand around Jon’s shoulders. Jon was pulling, trying to get to Clark. Bruce wisely kept him tight to his side, ushering the two boys out, and to safety.

“Frankenstein, a hand?”

The monster and his bride nodded, and for the next hour the three of them took care of Manchester Black and his Elite. Waited for the authorities, gave their statements, made sure everything was good. Everyone was safe.

That most of all, _Jon_ was safe. From here on out.

By the time Clark emerged from the old, magical house, the sun was setting. And past the rush of police officers and League members, he could see shapes a few yards away, under a tree.

Batman, kneeling in the grass. Damian’s head pillowed against his thighs, injuries still evident and painful looking, and in the process of being taken care of by his father. Paramedics standing nearby. Looking sour, no doubt because Bruce had dismissed them. Insisted on taking care of his son himself.

(He probably took their equipment to do so, though.)

Jon was kneeled next to the older boy, crying still. Holding Damian’s hand up for Batman to inspect, helping in any way he was allowed to.

…He’d been forced to cry so much lately.

“Batman.” He called, moving towards them. Jon’s head shot up, and he was on his feet before another word could be spoken. Running at him as fast as he could. Collapsing into Clark’s arms as soon as he was close enough.

“I’m sorry.” He wailed, even as Clark doubled protectively over him. “Dad, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. This is _my_ -”

“Shhh, it’s not, Jon.” Clark whispered, holding his son as tightly as he could. Listened as Batman politely requested for the paramedics to give them all a moment. As they agreed, and silently walked away. “It’s not your fault at all, Jon, and I’m just so glad you’re safe.”

“I got Mom hurt.” Jon sobbed, clutching and pulling at Clark’s cape. “I almost killed Damian. I almost killed _you_.”

Damian’s reasoning and words floated back to him, and suddenly, he was grateful for that stubborn teenager.

“But you didn’t.” Clark smiled, lifting Jon’s face by his chin. Wiped those tears away. “You didn’t, and we’re all fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon continued anyway. “I’m so sorry, Dad…”

“I know you are, son. And I don’t blame you. And even if I did, I have already forgiven you. But maybe…maybe it’s not _me_ you should be apologizing to.” Keeping Jon’s face in his palm, he looked back up to Bruce. “How’s he doing?”

Damian looked over at him, face impassive, weak voice royal. “I’m _fine_ , Superman.”

And Clark caught Bruce’s smirk. Heard his snort of laughter as he ran his fingers over Damian’s hair. “A few broken bones, some incredibly deep bruises. Probably a concussion, though luckily blood loss was relatively minor. As soon as we’re done here, I’d like to take him to the hospital. Keep him there overnight with Ms. Lane.” Damian glanced up at him and scowled. Bruce let his smile deepen as he looked over at Clark. “But overall, I think he’ll survive, and heal well.”

Jon sniffed, and turned to look sadly back.

“…Maybe you don’t have to apologize to him at all.” Clark offered quietly, as Damian scolded his father. “Maybe you should go back and _thank_ him instead. I think…he’s the one who saved you today, after all.”

“I know.” Jon whispered. “I know he did.”

And silently, Jon regained his footing, walked slowly back over to Damian, and knelt at his side once more. Stared down at his own partner, then up at Bruce.

And Bruce thought for a moment, then sighed. “Carefully.”

Jon nodded, swallowed his tears, then slowly leaned down. Rested his head on Damian’s chest as he wrapped his arms as far around his torso as he could.

“Thank you.” Jon breathed, as Clark walked up behind him. “Thank you so much for saving me and my dad, Damian.”

Damian turned his head away. Pursed his lips. Tried to stop the flustered blush that was running up his cheeks. Sighed, and awkwardly pat the back of Jon’s head.

“It was…no problem.” He tried, clearly embarrassed by the praise. “It’s what…” Another sigh. “What _friends_ are for.”

Jon kept his head against Damian’s chest, but twisted to look up at him. “We…We’re friends?”

“Yeah.” Damian admitted grumpily. “I _guess_.”

And poor Jon was brought to tears again. Wailed once more, as he hid his face against Damian’s uniform.

 _‘Well.’_ Clark thought as he and Bruce shared a knowing glance. _‘At least it’s for a happy reason this time.’_


End file.
